Dying with Kool Aid

They are lurid and candy like. And fascinatingly addictive. And so easy. I mean so easy. If you have never dyed wool before this would be a great place to start; it's utterly fail and fool proof.



First you get your skein of wool (if it's in a ball already unwind around the back of a chair into a skein - tie each finished end loosely so you don't end up with a spaghetti-tangle). Soak this in cold water for about half an hour, until it is well and truly saturated. A squeeze of washing up liquid helps this along.



Get a nice big pan and empty in your sachet of Kool Aid, adding enough water that you think will cover your wool. Important to note that with Kool Aid it is not the quantity of water you use - as at the end you will end up with a pot of clear water; the dye disappears magically into the wool. So use enough to cover. I used two sachets to 50g of wool. Other instructions I have found say similar - that one sachet gives 25g of wool good colour.



So once the wool is wet, squeeze the water out gently and pop it into the pan of dye. Now heat. Don't boil, but simmer for about twenty minutes. I don't have a microwave but if you do you can find instructions here for that method. The citric acid and the heat are supposedly what 'fix' the dye, the mordant.



Set your coloured spaghetti-wool aside and let it cool. Don't be tempted to speed up the process and drain and rinse with cool water yet as you will end up with felted wool - quick changes in temperatures cause felting (sadly I have experience this far too many times in the washing of wool items over the years with my tendency towards impatience).



And so, drain, rinse, squeeze gently, very gently, in a towel and hang some where warm to dry.





Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Sit back and admire your hand dyed candy shaded wool. Run and show every family member at least twice. Call and email someone to tell them you dyed your own wool for the first time. Or even, blog about it too.

Natural dyes. My next plan.

Book Sharing Monday - II

Again I have picked two to share. I never fear of my running out by doing multiples, I have a back-log of books to carry on with, they are stored in my mind like trains in a blocked tunnel, just waiting for their chance to appear on Book Sharing Monday.

Little Black Sambo



Oh yes. Some may have much to say in argument over this book. I quite agree. Tigerism is not a nice thing. But of course it is very easy to see how H. Bannerman could have felt so Tigerist, her being from a whole different era of thought and all. A talking point in any case should the issue arise.



Synopsis: Little Black Sambo was made and bought some fine new clothes by his Ma and Pa and quite rightly he then wanted to wander through the jungle to get a feel for them. But by and by he meets a Tiger who threatens to eat him. Never fear though, the Tiger is much satisfied by the acquisition of an item of clothing instead. Declaring now indeed he must be 'The grandest tiger in the jungle!' Not long afterwards yet another Tiger greedily wants to eat the magnificently dressed Little Black Sambo. And so it goes on until the clothes and shoes and umbrella are quite gone. But.... soon the Tigers chance to meet and dispute over which of them is truly the grandest (as tigers are very apt to do) and so taking off the clothes they set about chasing each and Little Black Sambo is reunited with his dear clothing. The Tigers, in anger and nakedness, chase and chase each other around a tree whirling faster and faster until there is nothing left of them but a wonderfully big pool of melted butter. And so the day ends well, with Pa taking home the butter for Ma to turn into pancakes. Yum.



A story that makes me smile every time I read it - Tigers turning into butter! Pancakes! Clothing returned to it's rightful owner! Satisfaction and relief in one tiny little blue book.


Phoebe and the Hot water Bottles



There is a reason this book is no longer in print, I am sure it has something to do with a small girl being left home alone in a house above her chemist shop, just her and her 158 hot water bottles. When all alone one night, a fire breaks out and what does little Phoebe do? Run out screaming to a neighbour and call the fire brigade? No, of course not. She empties out all 158 hot water bottles on to the blaze and saves her home. And the chemist shop. Naturally her father is utterly delighted with her when he returns. And her one true heart's desire is finally full filled in this act of heroism - a puppy! All of her very own! Sigh. What an ending. Plus phoebe does A LOT of fun stuff with those hot water bottles. Fab illustration.







I have never felt the need to actually say in a smart voice snapping the book shut - now boys! You know *really* what one would do in such a situation, yes? I mean, come on. Fantasy. Silly and absurd and crazy and totally not safe or sensible, or PC. You can see I like that my books have that certain tilt. But, do you?

If so maybe you'll like my choices this week.

Liking

What I like, today:



1. Finding a little patch of unexpected primrose.

2. Going mad planting far too many seeds. I call it spring time optimism. My new thrilling adventure this weekend will be making nettle or comfrey sludge. Or fertiliser, or feed. Whatever. I am going to try it. Or to be precise, persuade my dh he would really like to.



3. The bonding camaraderie on the roads felt when driving and someone flashes to let you know a speed camera is just around the bend. Usually on the roads everyone slower than you are idiots and faster - well of course they are maniacs. You of course are the only true sane, safe driver.

4. Seeing the different responses I get when out and about with Esmé in the sling. Men pretty much don't even bat an eye (ever notice that once you have children you become non existent to most men?) but women, well, some older women coo and chat and just are so old that a touch of a baby is like an elixir, you can see it working it's magic. Others gush about the wonders of carrying your baby like that, so close, so content, so snuggly. They wax lyrical about it. That bit is great. Then there are the slightly younger women who you kind of feel might already have older children - some look hungrily at you in that still-having-menstrual-cycles-so-still-have-baby-lust way. Some frown a bit as if they disapprove of the baby so tucked up and happy while you have your hands free to carry groaning bags or hold another child's and you suspect they didn't use a sling and had a trickier time when out and about with their own kids. Then there are the much younger pre-childbearing females - some like the men don't bat an eye at you, others smile, Isn't that the cutest thing! Babies are soooo cute! Then a minute later are gushing the same way over a hairband. Some have started to feel those womanly twangs some where deep and have that shy longing and look long and hard at you and your baby, drinking you in, storing away the picture of the mama-baby duo. I love wearing Esmé, she is getting big but when against me, she feels so small. I love that too.

5. Being taken by surprise by the view of a grey stone house, chimney spouting a plume of smoke against the foot of a lime green hill. Wind raking a blossom tree sideways parallel with the smoke, both leaning into a yellow tree. Purple slates on the roof. Sky white washed.

6. Someone asking if I like their 'im-bol'. Well yeah, I guess I do (thinking crazily hard around a small boys' lispy-speech - what's an 'imbol?') Yeah I like your dimple I say, taking a risk. No! It's an IMBOL!!! oh, yeah, an imbol, crazy Mummy. Temple! It's a temple! I guess wildly again. Another boy chimes in with a sigh. Symbol. It's a marzipna symbol of a boy. Why of course. I should have known that.



7. Chocolate brownies. Big slabs, fudgy, silky texture. Heaven tastes like chocolate brownies; smooth with a slight crisp above.

8. Wool. Lots of it. Multi coloured, soft, coiled, sprung and both heavy and light with potential in the soft bag against my thigh as I walk.

9. Blue Eyes. Espeically hers.

The Night Garden

The males in the house all camped out in the garden tonight. Garden camping is good. It is especially good for little boys high on Life. And a man who spends lots of time indoors. Marshmallows and campfires are a must, I ignore sugar and the consumption of on special occasions.





The Beauty enjoyed exploring the tent thoroughly and the oversaw the boys laying out sheepskins and pillows and Beano annuals. She and I retired indoors though, our tent just isn't big enough for us all, shame shame :)

Free Food Friday

If I can do Book Sharing Monday I can invent Free Food Friday :)

My challenge to myself is to see what I can forage from my garden and surrounding environemnt to turn into a meal. Every Friday. Ok. So I think some weeks I may have a scattering of lavender flowers in my cookie dough, or maybe I might spin off a recipe from the same raw plant ingredients (we are all full to the brim here with wild garlic) but other weeks hopefully I can find new things for my family to eat. And Enjoy. That is the biggie. It has to be tasty. I am starting with something already tried and tested and LOVED here. Nettle Soup.


I spy with my little eye....



...dinner.

Nettle Soup. It's that perfect time of year for it. The nettles are young and green stemmed and juicy. We all ate this, it is really that good. And your mouth does NOT get stung. I mean, you knew that anyway, of course you did. Who could turn away these particular abundant, nutritious free greens when a bag of organic spinach empties your wallet?

Nettles are Good for you, I really don't need to go down there, there's info everywhere about nettles. For years I have bought dried nettle leaves (to alternate with red clover and raspberry leaf) and steeped and brewed deep rich satisfying infusions as directed by herbal Wise Woman Susan Weed to drink on an evening. I cannot even imagine how many pots of raspberry leaf I have downed in the last decade of childbearing. I love the stuff. I love red clover and nettle steeped together - supposedly great for increasing fertity too (I didn't drink it for that reason but good reproductive health is a nice bonus). This book was my bible for all ails for so long.

After a day of too many sweet things, or rich foods, the bitterness of nettle or raspberry leaf acts like a tonic, I just crave it and my taste buds yearn for some. But even though I have used nettles for years as a drink I really did not fancy eating them. Free and easy they may be but something in me rebelled against even trying them as a food... maybe the idea of wasting my time over something no one would eat? But nettle soup is different. Once you try it you'll laugh a bit because it's easy. And that tasty, you'll be out the next day to pick more (just as I feel I will be tomorrow).



Nettle Soup

~Chop up 3-4 big fat onions or leeks.
~Chop up 4-6 big potatoes (or other root veg like sweet potato)
~Fry them in oil
~Leave them to simmer a bit and wander outside with gloves, scissors and a basket to collect nettles. Pick young ones with nice juicy looking green stems, not the woodier darker stems. They are tougher and a bit bitter tasting. Cut about a third of the plant, you want the top third for your soup. I picked a great big pile, like spinach it cooks down so don't worry about picking too much. Look out for leaves with little holes and creepy crawlies, avoid those plants (only because they take longer to pick through!). Give them all a good shake to get rid of anything non nettle.
~Throw them in the pot with the veg. Or rinse them first. Whatever you feel, mine were from the garden and not near cars/dogs etc and looked mighty clean. I am not so fussy about cleaning every last thing I eat to within an inch of it's life.
~ Add some good stock, a pint or two, just see what you want - thin or thick soup? I like mine thicker so didn't add as much.
~Simmer until everything is soft and then PUREE. Don't forget to PUREE!!! Seriously or even the dog will not want it. Add seasoning and check to taste.

When you sit down to eat...

...once in a while it's nice not just to arm sweep the day's detritus to one side and eat around it, but to actually lay the table. Tablecloths are out because a tiny person here has the ability to pull it clean off when my back is turned. So I made some place settings. I had this pile of tea towels to use, I thought I might make aprons with them but then this became more attractive. The backs, the napkins and pockets are made from the tea towels and the front pieces are bits I had in my fabric pile.

I snipped a tea towel in half. One half I hemmed the raw edge and that was the napkin. The other half became the back of the place mat. One towel I used for the sole purpose of snipping into pockets. They were all easy to put together and involved lots of pinning. I love pinning things before I sew them, excessively so. I use more pins than needed but I don't care, it looks so neat! I get to be a perfectionist and it is easy too so it's a satisfying way of getting that doing-something-well-feeling fix.



See the cute pigs? Who will have the pig one I asked? And without a pause everyone shouted out my dh's name. He had the good grace to laugh along with the rest of us. But yk, what else was he gonna do? Cry? Nah, he's not that precious. He snorted (rather like a pig) with the rest of us and laughed merrily.





When the napkins are pulled out (or tossed into the wash) they can be flipped over for another meal, which also hides the mess from the previous one, handy.



Although I have to say, pretty though they may be, they will be one off uses I think, or for special meal times.... they clutter the table up a bit much and I noticed Felix pushed his to the side because he didn't want to put his bowl on to his (not I might add because he was worried about spillages, no, rather because it was 'bumpy' what ever that might mean). I laughed at that. But you know, I like them, and I'd make them again. I had to, it burst out of me, there was no holding it back. They are done. And they were 'done' on three consecutive nights in fifteen minute slots while the bath was running and the stair gate was shut so The Beauty was free to rampage. And rampage she did, uninterrupted and satisfyingly so. Just like my sewing.

Book Sharing Monday

What a cool thing to do. Sharing a favourite Children's book each Monday. Now the task for me will be to keep it up! Or actually maybe it might be narrowing down my choice..... because in fact today I have picked two! I am bad. I know it. I have a serious book addiction - buying and reading children's books like there is no tomorrow. Which there may not be! Who knows! So I indulge in this very delicious pleasure since it hurts no one and feels positively virtuous; I like to think even the bank manager must smile when people offer up their apologies for going over their overdraft limit on account of so many lovely children's books beckoning and calling - why Mr Bank Manager! If you had only seen the illustrations! Exactly.... yes you see why I just had to own it... and so on.

These two books I read often because as a child they were mine and I liked them a lot. This means my kids like them too. It's always that way :) In fact I have a serious addiction on ebay with these original Ladybird books. The pictures are so evocative and detailed and dreamy and the stories are not cutesy pie. They have foxes being thrown down wells and drowning and animals going hungry because they didn't help in the making of the food. But bleakness and blackness are a good part of stories, they balance that sugar and sweetness and happiness. I am sure you will see more of theses Well Loved Tales in this section of my blog.



The Little Red Hen
-and the grains of wheat

One day the little red hen found some grains of wheat. She took them to the other animals in the farmyard. 'Who will help me to plant these grains of wheat?' asked the little red hen?



The answer is no one. But through the laziness of the other animals and the industriousness of the little red hen the making of a loaf of bread is shown, from sowing the grains, milling into flour and making dough.




A lesson in grain to table and a gleeful story-ending when the lazy animals go hungry and the virtuous, hard working, get to eat - what a moral :lol (although I have to say that Isaac always adds that he is sure the hen must have given them one little slice to share......)

Mrs Honey's Hat



Mrs Honey had a hat. A ridiculous hat. But she seemed to like it. As this story progresses it becomes clear that her ridiculous hat is about turn just plain ugly. And it does, from fake fruit and a jingle bell to birds eggs, cobwebs and a fish bones. Both negligence and short sightedness prevented Mrs Honey from noticing that her hat was changing. At the end of each page something is taken from the hat and something else deposited in it's place. But Mrs Honey didn't notice. Said in a whisper and in tone of incredulousness.




This book was one of my favourite as a child. I REALLY liked it. I have no idea why. But I probably demanded that it was read to me a million odd times. Probably the same reason as I like it now - the fact that Mrs Honey is a crazy old lady wearing a crazy stinky hat and has no idea.

eggs and a long weekend

Blown, dyed (er, red cabbage makes a yukky grey colour if you ever want a grey egg for anything!), painted, displayed, rolled, eaten, hidden, hunted.... and all from our lovely chooks!





A lazy-ish (well you can't really ever be lazy with three children) long weekend. I love most (and so do the boys) that it meant dh was home with us. The rest was all secondary. But it was good, second or not. My dh kicked off the day by sneaking outside to hide the paper baskets (now with a chocolate rabbit in each) before everyone awoke. The boys and I ran outside in our pj's and while they were hunting I sprinkled some glitter quickly outside the fairy door and placed two gem stones there. So they were also found and exclaimed over and we ran back indoors (it was chilly!). Even though I had said not to bother my dh had bought me a little G&B's chocolate egg, that was good as it meant I didn't steal too many bites from the boys :) So, we all munched in the big bed.

Later we did proper treasure hunts with picture clues that led all over the house and garden and of course our egg rolling down the slope outside.





There is this family joke regarding egg rolling that makes me snort and retell the story to my boys every year (and of course call up the butt of the joke - my brother- to get him to laugh about it all over again).

I was at uni and home for Easter (and a few months away from being pregnant with Isaac). Even though I was 20 I still liked doing the whole crafts at Easter thing (I always have - lets not pretend!) and so my brothers, sister and I set about decorating eggs ready to roll on our Sunday walk. Sunday came and we walked to a nearby hill (Roseberry Topping I think). In excitement we began rolling, and in my haste I grabbed and rolled the egg made not by me but by my brother who was then only seven years old. It rampaged down the hillside over cliff-like edges, with no hope of fetching it back. He started moaning and crying and everyone else carried on rolling and to his horror he realised there were no eggs left for him to roll. In desperation my mother stuck her hand in her pocket and said, 'Here, never mind! You can roll this!' It was an orange. This sent the rest of us into hysterics. We rolled around and laughed and I think even he stopped crying to smile a bit. Although he declined distainfully at rolling the orange I am sure one of us lobbed it instead (the dog by the way loves egg rolling and makes a sick pig of it's self chasing and trying to eat as many sticky glue/paint smeared hard boiled eggs as it can). Every year since someone has asked my brother if he plans to roll his orange this Easter. I of course had to ring him up to ask and then have hysterics on the phone. As usual. Now he is a grand 18 year old and can be cool and smile and laugh a bit and indulge me. He doesn't cry about it still in any case. And the boys ask me to tell this silly story over and over each year and I laugh about it all over again. I can't say what exactly was quite so funny. Just the absurdness of someone actually rolling an orange in place of an egg and finding it perfectly acceptable, even fun, seemed ridiculous.



We didn't roll any oranges, but we ate some. In honour. Well, having a cold was reason enough.

In the garden I find moments of calm and stillness and beauty enough to stop my silliness for just a moment.








When a tractor and car collide (harmlessly) at the end of our driveway, it is excitement.



And even The Beauty gabbles and laughs at the sight and noise.



Excitement can come in smaller tractor size packages too.



As can paddling in the stream. This has begun again, every day. It's a thing boys never tire of.